Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
K ate’s fingers were numb. She’d been waulking wool for what felt like hours, though the sun hadn’t moved much in the sky. The rhythmic thumping and singing helped pass the time, but her shoulders ached. She was seated between Nessa and a young girl named Mary at the long wooden table where the women worked the wool.
The sharp smell of urine used to clean the wool made her wrinkle her nose. She’d nearly gagged when Nessa explained what they used, but apparently, it was the best way to get the lanolin out. Kate had a new appreciation for her washer and dryer.
“Keep the rhythm,” Nessa called out. “We’ll never get done at this rate.”
The women began another song, their voices rising and falling as they passed the wet wool down the table. She tried to join in, but stumbled over the Gaelic words.
“Here.” Moira passed her a flask. “A wee dram will help loosen your tongue.”
Kate took a sip and immediately started coughing. The whisky burned all the way down. “That’s... potent.”
The women laughed. Mary patted her back. “You’ll get used to it.”
Three more passes of the flask and she was feeling much warmer. The Gaelic words didn’t seem quite so difficult anymore. When they finished the current song, she grinned at her companions.
“Want to learn a drinking song from my...village?”
Nessa frowned, but the other women nodded eagerly.
“99 bottles of beer on the wall, 99 bottles of beer...” Kate started singing, demonstrating the counting down part.
Soon the women were enthusiastically joining in, though they changed it to “whisky in the hall.” Their voices grew louder with each verse. She caught sight of Connor walking past the open door, doing a double-take at the raucous singing. She gave him a little wave, feeling bold from the whisky.
He shook his head, but she could have sworn she saw a smile tugging at his lips before he moved on, his plaid swishing against his legs as he strode away.
Kate found herself smiling, too. Back home, she’d never done anything like this. Sitting with a group of women, singing and working together. Her job had her analyzing relationships from behind a screen, not building them over shared labor and whisky. There was something oddly comforting about it, despite the aching shoulders and the disgusting smell.
“Tell us about your village,” Mary asked during a break, her work-roughened hands smoothing her simple brown wool kirtle.
Kate paused, mentally scrambling for details about Boston that wouldn’t raise suspicions. These women believed she was from the colonies, Massachusetts specifically, and she needed to keep her story consistent.
“Boston is... larger than most villages here,” she began carefully. “It sits on a harbor with many ships coming and going. The streets are laid out near the water, with houses built close together. Most are made of wood, though some of the wealthier families have brick homes.”
She thought about what would be relevant to these 17th-century women. “There’s a large market where people trade goods from all over. Fish is plentiful, of course, being so close to the sea. And there are several churches with tall steeples that you can see from almost anywhere in town.”
Kate smiled, adding details she recalled from a weekend trip a year ago. “The winters are harsh, with bitter cold winds coming off the water. But spring brings beautiful flowering trees and summer days that can be quite hot.”
“I would not want to leave the clan.” Mary pursed her lips. Though only seventeen, her weathered face and calloused fingers made her appear the same age as Kate, who had turned twenty-nine back in March. “Do you miss your family?”
Her chest tightened as she adjusted her dove gray dress, the wool itchy against her skin. The other women wore similar plain dresses in muted browns and grays, with white linen caps covering their hair, though Kate refused a cap, preferring to braid her hair to feel the air on her neck.
“Yes, very much.” She took another sip from the flask, letting the whisky’s burn steady her nerves and lend credibility to the tremor in her voice. “I lost my husband nearly two years past.” Kate’s fingers tightened around the flask as she wove her tale, making sure not to deviate from the story she’d told Connor.
“I was supposed to stay with a cousin in Edinburgh, a distant relation on my mother’s side. But I received word just before leaving that she’d passed from fever.” Her voice softened, the genuine loneliness of her situation seeping into her words. “By then, it was too late to change my journey.”
One of the older women clucked her tongue sympathetically. “Two years a widow, ye say? Well then, lass, it’s high time ye found yourself another husband. A bonny thing like you shouldn’t be alone in the world.”
The scent of fresh bread wafted from the kitchen as the women worked the wool.
“Our laird needs a wife,” Mary said with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling despite the shadows under them from years of hard work. “He watches you when you’re not looking.”
“He does not.” She felt her cheeks grow warm, and not just from the whisky. The other women’s knowing looks made her face flush even deeper.
“Aye, he does,” several women chimed in, giggling as they continued waulking the wool, all of the tipsy.
“Back to work,” Nessa ordered, her keys jangling at her waist as she surveyed them with stern authority, though Kate caught the older woman hiding a smile behind her hand. The housekeeper’s graying hair was neatly tucked under a spotless white cap, her black dress marking her higher status among the servants.
As they resumed their work, a pretty girl with black hair joined them, standing next to Mary, wringing her hands.
“What’s wrong?” Mary asked.
“Nothing. I just...” The girl’s eyes were red as if she’d been crying. “Archie asked me to walk with him after supper.”
The other women immediately started offering advice and congratulations. She studied the girl’s face and body language, years of analyzing relationships kicking in automatically. Isla was nervous but not in the excited way of someone in love. There was tension in her shoulders, worry in her eyes. And she’d seen the young man, Archie, had taken his measure a few days ago.
“He’s a fine catch,” one woman said. “Your father will be pleased.”
“I suppose...” Isla twisted her apron. “But what if?—”
“He’ll break your heart within a fortnight,” Kate said absently, the whisky making her forget her place. When she realized she’d spoken aloud, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
But it was too late. The women had gone silent, staring at her. Isla burst into tears and fled the room.
“How dare you say such a thing?” Mary jumped up. “Archie is my brother, and he’s a good man.”
“I didn’t... I just...” Kate looked helplessly at Nessa, who was frowning deeply.
“Perhaps you’ve had enough whisky for one day,” Nessa said firmly. “Go get some fresh air.”
She stumbled to her feet, mortified. Talk about a big mouth. Kate hurried to the far corner of the garden, leaning against the cool stone wall. What had she been thinking? She couldn’t go around casually predicting the end of relationships. These people already thought she was strange enough.
But she knew she was right. She’d seen it hundreds of times in her work at Love Lasting. Archie was the charming young man who rushed into courtship without really being ready for commitment. And Isla clearly had doubts she was trying to ignore.
Sure enough, ten days later, Archie was seen kissing the miller’s daughter behind the stables. Isla was heartbroken, but she would recover. Unfortunately, the accuracy of Kate’s prediction had not gone unnoticed.
She heard the whispers as she walked through the keep. Women crossed themselves when she passed. Some of the servants took to leaving sprigs of rowan on her pillow as protection against evil.
“Pay them no mind,” Connor told her one evening as they walked along the battlements. He’d taken to seeking her out more often lately, though she tried not to read too much into it. “They’re just superstitious.”
“They think I’m a witch,” Kate said miserably. “All because I have a knack for seeing when relationships won’t work out.”
“Are you?” His voice was teasing. “A witch?”
“No!” She smacked his arm, then immediately pulled back. But somehow it felt natural with him. “I just... I’ve seen a lot of relationships. I know the signs.”
His expression suddenly turned serious, his brow furrowing as he glanced around to ensure they were alone. “We should not jest about witchcraft,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Such accusations have led women to terrible fates. Even in jest, such words can take root in fearful minds.”
He was quiet for a moment, looking out over the darkening hills. “How does it work? This ability of yours?”
Kate hesitated, unsure how to explain her career in dating app analytics to a 17th-century Highland chief.
“It’s not magic,” she said carefully. “I just... observe. People show who they are if you pay attention. Archie, no offense to Mary’s brother, but he has wandering eyes. Always looking at the next pretty girl. And Isla, she was nervous, not excited. When you’re truly in love, there’s joy beneath the nervousness.”
He studied her face, his blue eyes intent. “And can you predict your own heart as well as others’?”
The question caught her off guard. “No,” she admitted. “I’m terrible at that part. Always have been.”
“Interesting.” Something flickered in his eyes that made her pulse quicken. “And what signs do you see for us?”
Kate’s heart skipped. “Us?”
“The clan,” he clarified quickly. “Our future.”
“Oh.” She ignored the slight disappointment in her chest. “I’m not actually able to see the future, you know. I can just tell when two people aren’t right for each other.”
“Like Isla and Archie?”
“Exactly. He wasn’t ready to settle down, and she knew it deep down but was trying to convince herself otherwise because everyone said they’d be a good match.” Kate sighed. “I should have kept my mouth shut.”
“Perhaps.” Connor turned to face her, his expression serious in the fading light. “But you saved her from a worse heartbreak later. Sometimes truth is worth a little discomfort.”
Kate met his eyes, struck by the warmth there. For a moment, she forgot about the whispers and the rowan sprigs. She forgot about being trapped in the wrong time. She just existed in this moment with Connor, feeling strangely at peace.
Then he reached out, hesitantly, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers were calloused but gentle, and something about the tenderness of the gesture made Kate’s breath catch. This man who commanded warriors with a single word, who carried the weight of his clan’s survival on his shoulders, could be so unexpectedly kind.
A raven cawed overhead, and she jumped, breaking the spell.
“I should go in,” she said quickly. “The wind is cold.”
“Aye.” There was definitely disappointment in his voice now. “Sleep well, Kate.”
She hurried inside, heart pounding. She had to be more careful, not just with her predictions, but with her growing feelings for Connor. She didn’t belong here, no matter how right it felt sometimes.
In her chamber, she found fresh rowan sprigs on her pillow. She gathered them up, meaning to throw them in the fire, then stopped. Maybe a little extra protection wasn’t such a bad thing, even if you didn’t believe in it. She tucked them under the bed and crawled under the covers, trying not to think about the way Connor had looked at her as the sun set.
The irony wasn’t lost on her. She could predict everyone else’s romantic disasters with eerie accuracy, yet here she was, falling for a man who lived centuries before she was born. So much for her relationship expertise. Her “gift” was useless when it came to her own heart, especially when that heart was leading her straight into impossible territory.
She was definitely in trouble.